


Eight Arms to Hold You

by tisfan



Series: Imagine Tony and Bucky 2016/2017 [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Babies, Consentacles, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mer-lobster Steve Rogers, Merperson Tony Stark, Mpreg, Pregnant Tony Stark, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, The Ten Rings (Marvel), colossal squid, mermaid au, octobucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky has a missing arm and a bad attitude.Tony wasn't picked for the mating season.They're both in heat. They... may not have thought this through.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _dreamcatchersdaughter_  
> 
> _Octo-Merman Bucky and Seahorse-Merman Tony having a wild one night stand at the undersea local bar, (just some hot sensual consensual tentacle sex) and Tony is regretful to leave the next morning, but he doesn't want Rhodey to worry. Turns out later Tony is pregnant with Bucky's Mer-babies and Tony doesn't know how to tell him, ends in fluffy happy ending please and thank you? (Bonus Protective Octo!Bucky doting lovingly on his pregnant mate please!)_

Bucky was missing one top-arm and one of his lower arms, which still gave him 8 limbs to cover his face with and when Steve decided to drag him into a karaoke sandbar, Bucky needed all of them.

“No, Steve,” Bucky tried. The music, if you wanted to torture your eardrums by calling it that, was all off-key. (It was a hazard with human music; it didn’t always translate to underseas entertainment. There was just a problem with vocal plasticity. Bucky was rather more into traditional musical forms; give him a baleen whale seasonal song any day.)

“Steve, yes!” Steve was a mer-crustacean. He had a thick well-armored tail and _twelve_ limbs. Bucky (who was down two limbs) thought that was a little unfair about half the time. And Steve wasn’t very smart. Mer-crustaceans were aggressive, territorial, and apt to eat something that was pissing them off. When he wasn’t trying to sing or pick a fight, Bucky found Steve to be a wonderful companion, as his claws and armor were handy in keeping predatory shark-mers from trying to take another bite of Bucky. He’d had a bad run in with a hydra a few years back that had left him at a significant disadvantage.

“You owe me like, so, so many sponges for this,” Bucky complained. He followed Steve into the sandbar.

“Don’t worry,” Steve said, slinging an arm (not the one with the huge foreclaw, there was a reason that Bucky was Steve’s right hand man) around Bucky’s shoulder. They did fit nicely together on that side, anyway, since Bucky didn’t actually have to try to get his arm around Steve’s broad shoulders, since he didn’t _have one_. Okay, seriously, he might be a little bitter about that. “I’ve got a ton of clams, we’ll have fun. It’ll be great. You should try the whole relaxing thing, once in a while.”

Despite, or perhaps because of, the shitty music, mers were packed in there like sardines. Bucky squished himself, one of his more useful abilities. He twisted around, slithered and squeezed between mers, trying to get a better look. Annoyed, he scrambled up one of the cavern pillars to scope out the scene. Two mers got up from a rock, way in the back, and Bucky shifted to the ceiling, grabbing suckerholds across the rough stone, moving just fast enough that he beat the next takers. He dropped onto the stone and spread his arms out as much as he could, covering the rock and saving Steve a spot. “Mine!” (Okay, so mer-crustaceans weren’t the only territorial fish in the sea. But Steve was worse. Way worse.)

“Aw, he’s being shellfish,” one of them said. A pretty, deep red and gold mer-seahorse, he wore a glowing seastone around his neck.

“Tones, no,” the other mer-seahorse said. His tail was silver and his back spines shivered in anger. “Do not pick fights with the cephs, it never goes well.”

“I’m not picking a fight, sea-urchin,” the one called Tones said. He had huge eyes, surrounded by thick lashes and he batted them at Bucky, overly flirty. “I’ve just never actually met a mer-octopus before. I thought you were all solitary sorts, dragging your coconut shells around to hide in them.”

Bucky was a solitary sort. He’d gotten to be friends with Steve out of sheer necessity. He was not a mers mer. He was a lone shark, so to speak. A school of one. Mer-octopuses emerged to eat, to defend their territory (or flee), and to mate.

_Oh._

Suddenly Bucky understood a little better why he’d let Steve drag him into a sandbar. He was getting ready for his rut. Huh. It’d been a while. Since way before he’d lost the arms. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen one of his own kind (hanging out with Steve was probably ruining his chances of attracting a same species mate, anyway.)

“Well,” Bucky said, curling one tentacle around Tones’ waist, picking his way clear of those spines in the back (ow, sharp!) and pulling him closer. “We do come out to play, sometimes.”

“That’s good to hear,” Tones said, running one finger down the stump of Bucky’s ruined arm. “I like your ink.”

Bucky smirked. It was one of the many advantages his people had -- he could landcrawl for several minutes before needing to submerge again to breathe. Which meant something like the tattooing that decorated the chests and upper arms of most of his kin was possible. Other mers had to use decorative shells or piercings to announce their ranks; things that were easily stolen or imitated, while Bucky’s lineage and accomplishments were written on his skin for everyone to see.

“Thank you,” he said. He offered his one good top-arm to the mer-seahorse. “I’m Bucky. You’re Tones, right?”

“Tony,” the mer-seahorse corrected. “Tones is just what cuddlefish there calls me.” He indicated his friend. “Rhodes, Bucky. Bucky, Rhodes.” The two of them wore dozens of shell bracelets, and Tony’s shiny blue necklace drew the eye. They were high rank, for mer-seahorses.

Two of Bucky’s lower arms twitched and he reached awkwardly across his chest to sooth the muscles. All of his rank, except the most important. All that was left of his battle marks was the single, red star just above the the stump. So, perhaps the gold and shells of the mer-seahorses were better, as rank marks. At least they could be replaced.

“I want to be where the people are,” the humanish music swelled and suddenly Steve was up on the raised coral, lifting his hands as he sang.

Bucky groaned and used four arms to cover his face. “Someone spear me,” he said.

“Your friend?” Tony asked. He flitted his tail, spun around in a little circle like he was at a revel.

Bucky glanced up at the mer-seahorse as the water shifted and swirled near him. And happened to do so exactly at the right moment.

His jaw dropped.

Tony had the most perfectly curved dorsal hump that Bucky had ever seen. It wasn’t a common piece of anatomy to start with; most mers had tails that began just below their navel if they were live-birth, and somewhat above their bellies if they weren’t. Tony’s’ tail was a strange arc; pulling high in the front, but dipping low in the back to show off gluteus muscles.

Bucky watched him move, tail jiggling in time to Steve’s terrible, embarrassing cavorting on the stage. All three of Bucky’s hearts started beating in a syncopated rhythm, flushing blood down his arms until each of his suckers were flexing in anticipation. He shaded, turning from his typical deep red, colors rippling up his arms.

Tony looked down; one of Bucky’s arms was still around his waist, and the suckers there were taking tiny little tastes, leaving a ring of welt against Tony’s skin.

Bucky gave Tony his best charming smile. “Can… like I buy you a sponge?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, running his fingers over Bucky’s arm, letting the tentacles pull and pucker at his skin. “Think I’d like that,” he said.

***

 

It was a mistake, and Tony knew it when he made it. He and Rhodes were migrating, back from the mating ceremonies, where Tony had remained unpicked, outside the circle. Even Rhodey had taken a mate, a sweet young mer with a red tail. Rhodey had a pouchful of treasures, eggs tucked safely under his belly plate.

The women would wait, another few tides, before beginning the journey to warmer waters; the mating ceremony was always harder on the women then the men. In the time it took for Pepper to catch up, Rhodey would build their mate-dwelling and they’d wait, then, for their offspring, mated for life. Assuming she showed up. There were always women who didn’t, victims to mer-sharks or humans. The ocean was vast and cold and older than time. In the end, it claimed everyone.

“There’s always next year,” Rhodey had said, being philosophical as always.

There was next year, Tony knew. And the year after that, and the one after that. But next year, he’d make the journey alone. Rhodey would have his family. The seas were always more dangerous for a lone traveler.

So, when the mer-octopus started flirting, Tony had casually flirted back. Cross-species mating wasn’t entirely unheard of; they were all at least a little human, after all.

It wasn’t until Bucky rippled with interest, his skin shifting and changing colors like a school of mandarinfish. It was breaktaking, a mating display like Tony had never seen. Ever. The suckers on the tender insides of his arms took tiny nibbles of Tony’s skin, tugging blood to the surface, making every touch a caress.

One sponge -- the little food sources had been pickled in such a way as to give a mer a sense of euphoria (and later, a headache) -- led to three or four. They joined the mers at the revel, and Bucky danced like starfish, graceful and powerful, arms twining and twisting as he moved Tony through the waves.

And somehow they ended up finding a private pile of stone and a safe cluster of seaflowers, Bucky’s mouth on Tony’s, his arms wrapping around Tony’s arms, around the armored plating of his tail, around his throat, so gently. It blocked Tony’s gills and at first, Tony was terrified by that, but  Bucky kissed him, soft and sweet. Breathed with him. Between them, they shared oxygen. Bucky’s skin was absorbing it from the water as well as drawing it past gills. The coating on his skin passed oxygen into Tony’s gills directly. The extra oxygen made Tony drunk with it, high from respiration, for the first time, ever. Bucky laid a sucker over Tony’s nipple, the suction and bite causing ripples of pleasure.

“It’s like that,” Bucky told him, hand exploring Tony’s body, finding the pocket below his pouch where his male appendage rested behind the plates, safe and secure. “On the surface, I can diffuse in order to breathe. As long as I’m wet, I’ll be fine.” His people were foragers, heading to the surface to invade the floating homes of the humans, stealing shiny things from their campsites.

His arms wrapped ‘round Tony’s appendage, rubbing the trailing ends around and around. Blood pulsed through that limb, a deep, thrumming vibration. Tony arched, cried out, and Bucky rocked him through it, that impish smile on his face.

“What’s this?” Bucky probed at Tony’s pouch, his arm poking into the slit.

That was even more sensitive than his male appendage, like a dozen of them rolled flat and hidden away from the sea, almost never touched. He was aching in moments, for the feel of Bucky’s arms inside.

Tony couldn’t tell him, couldn’t talk, could barely think, as Bucky explored the interior of the pouch, pressing and sliding the tip of one arm inside. A second one joined the first as Tony writhed with unspeakable pleasure. A third, and Tony was singing his passion, unable to take any more ecstasy.   

“Oh, that’s so pretty, Tony,” Bucky said, soothing, holding him tight, wrapping him in the other arms, pulling him closer, protective. “Listen to you, so musical. Look how gorgeous you are, the way you come apart in my arms.”

“Yes, yes,” Tony was babbling, taking the gift of Bucky’s oxygen, the joy of his touch. Wanting, wanting it all. He opened his throat again, singing his mating song, the sounds that gave voice to his pleasure, his need.

Bucky writhed all over, his arms changing colors rapidly, and then a deep cloud of ink surrounded them. “Oops,” Bucky said, grinning shyly. He pulled a few of his arms free from his grip on Tony and moved them over a bit, out of the inky cloud.

“What was that?” Tony asked, watching the cloud disperse slowly.

“I inked,” Bucky said. His human skin rippled with color, too, until his cheeks and throat were almost the same red that his arms normally were. “I… if I feel great pleasure, sometimes, sometimes, a mer-octopus might also ink, as well as spill eggs.”

“You have eggs?” Tony cocked his head. “But you’re male. Very male.” His hand went down to caress and tease at Bucky’s mating arm.

“Have you met any of our women?” Bucky asked, laughing lightly. “My former mate, Black Widow… well, they are all like that. If we wish to live long enough to have our children, we steal eggs from our mates and flee, the contract broken.”

“Oh,” Tony said, touching Bucky’s face. “How sad for you. Must be lonely.”

“We’re solitary creatures,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Sometimes…” He took Tony’s hand, pressed it against his chest. Under the warm skin, Tony could feel his heart. “That’s one. I have three hearts. If they are all engaged, for me, for my mate, then we can bond. A bonded pair is together, the rest of their lives.”

“Are you bonded?”

“You’re so inquisitive,” Bucky chided, and distracted Tony by wrapping an arm around his hair and tugging his head back to receive Bucky’s kiss again.

It wasn’t until Bucky was long gone that Tony realized he’d never answered the question.

***

 

“Come on, man,” Rhodes complained. His tail shifted, the plates snicking against each other with aggression. “You gotta let me go look for the bastard.”

“What good would it do?” Tony said. He ached all over, every muscle hurt. The babies were squirmy, even more so than normal seahorses colts would be and Tony was having to cope with his pregnancy without a mate. The effort of keeping his pouch sealed without a mate’s hug to calm the babies, to settle them, was making his spine hurt. Bad enough that he was building his mate-dwelling with no mate to look forward to.

Tony laid his hands on the pouch, felt a dozen, two dozen, little arms writhing and twisting under his skin.

“Dude needs to come take care of his spawn,” Rhodey said.

Pepper had come with Rhodey, for a few of the visits, had given Tony her hug, but as soon as it became clear that at least some of Tony’s babies had multiple arms, rather than tails, she’d been too nauseated to help him. Tony would never ask his friend to share his mate in a way that made her so uncomfortable.

“Bucky’s a mer-octopus,” Tony pointed out. “They’re solitary creatures.”

“Even mer-octopuses guard their spawn,” Rhodey said.

“Pufferfish, in case you forgot, I’m not the only one around here who’s pregnant. Come on, leave off worrying. There’s nothing you can do. I just have to get through this.”

“Come stay with us,” Rhodey offered. “Finish the mate-dwelling after the colts are old enough to swim. You won’t take up that much room.”

That was a bad idea with a capital Bad, Tony thought. He and Rhodey were friends, good friends, even, but too many pregnant males in the same water for long… no. They’d draw predators. And bring out all of Pepper’s territorial aggressions. “It’s fine, Rhodey,” Tony repeated. “Just give me a cuddle and go home. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“A few days,” Rhodey promised. Their tails tangled awkwardly as Rhodey hugged him. It wasn’t the same as a mate’s hug. Tony didn’t know how he knew that, having never actually had a hug from Bucky, but it felt like it should have been more. Better, somehow.

***

 

“They’re gone.” Bucky twisted his arms together, anguished. His eggs, his precious eggs were _gone_.

He hadn’t seen another of his kin and kind in months. His former mate had abandoned her cave even before the eggs were ready to lay. Bucky didn’t know if she’d gotten bored while he was healing from his wounds, thought him dead, or was dead herself. He’d probably never know. But now his eggs were gone, that he’d so carefully removed from her pouch and given his seed to? His eggs were gone.

Steve patted him awkwardly with one hand; the hard chitin shell uncomfortable against Bucky’s skin, but he appreciated the effort, at least.

The mer-seahorse, Tony, must have taken them. Bucky seethed, his skin rippling black and green with fury, with the loss.

“You were both in a mating rut, Buck,” Steve said, reasonably. “Is it possible that you laid them?”

Bucky scowled. Steve could be calm about it; his mate would require servicing dozens of times, storing his seed in her receptacles until she was ready to lay. Once Steve mated, he’d be with his mate constantly until the fingerlings spawned.

“You did make an ink cloud,” Steve pointed out.

“ _Chum_!” Bucky swore. His arms twisted together again, tips exploring the secret places where he’d stored his precious treasures, feeling it like a missing tooth, an empty socket to poke and prod at, bleeding and sore.

“Go find him,” Steve suggested.

“How?” Bucky shuddered. Travel all that way, without even knowing what he’d find.

“The herds go south, after they mate,” Steve said. “Warmer waters.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a lotta ocean _south_ of here,” Bucky said. He was afraid of the open waters. There were hydra in those waters.

“Start at the sandbar,” Steve suggested. “They were on their way back from the mating grounds. They would have taken the shortest route.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I talk to people,” Steve said.

Bucky felt his blood pulse to his throat, his cheeks and his arms flushed pink with embarrassment.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have taken him as a mate, Buck. You obviously care about him.”

“I do?” Was that this… strange, empty place inside him? Bucky thought it was the loss of his eggs.

“Your hearts, Buck,” Steve said.

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know I can hear it. But my ears were always better than yours.”

“What in the name of kelp are you talking about?” Bucky wanted to tear his hair right out. Steve made no sense in the best of times, and these were not the best of times.

“All three of your hearts are beating, Buck,” Steve said.

“What?”

That couldn’t be possible, Bucky thought. He didn’t bond with a quick fuck in a coral bed, that was absurd. Stupid. Ridiculous. Why if he had bonded, wouldn’t he know it?

“Go on. Find your mate,” Steve urged him, pushing him with one serrated claw.

***

 

There was no way Tony was going to finish the mate-dwelling before he gave birth. He was swollen fat with Bucky’s spawn. They punched and pinched inside his pouch, aching, constant agony. He couldn’t lift another rock if his life depended on it. And it did.

The predators would be migrating south, soon. Mer-sharks and mer-sea lions. The deep fishing trawlers sometimes crossed herd territory, dropping their nets.

Tony was exposed and pregnant. An easier target for a quick meal, there would never be.

He twisted his tail around a strand of kelp, holding himself against the soft greens, keening softly. He was so _lonely_. And scared. He was going to die and his babies were going to die with him.

A shadow passed over him and Tony turned his face against the kelp. He couldn’t swim away, he hurt too much. His only chance was for the creature to pass him by.

Rocks clicked together. Something was examining his mate-shelter! Tony seethed, teeth gritting together. How dare --

He risked a peek between the seagrasses. Something huge was lifting the rocks, pushing them around. Picked up something from the ocean floor. Tony squinted. One of his bracelets. He’s taken them off and hidden them under a stone as pregnancy had swollen his limbs and they grew tight and uncomfortable.

The mer in Tony’s mate-dwelling raised its head, screamed with anguish.

Tony flinched away, then… wait…

“Bucky?” Tony couldn’t talk, he was so tired, his voice was so _weak_. That was his mate, his mate, and Tony couldn’t reach him. “No, wait, wait, don’t… don’t go… I’m here.”

Bucky cradled the bracelets to his chest, then slid them onto his arms, pushing them up until they dented the skin there.

Tony pulled water into his gills, swelling, then tightened his chest. Maybe, maybe… he sang.

The first notes touched the water and Bucky whirled, arms twisting wildly.

“Tony!”

Before Tony could blink, could smile, could do anything, Bucky was on him, arms wrapping around him in a fierce, warm, comforting hug. The babies in his pouch, sensing their parent, settled for the first time in weeks. Tony sighed in relief. He pulled his mate as close as he could.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Bucky was petting him, arms touching every inch of his skin. “You’re okay, you’re all right.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, voice breaking. “I’m okay.”

“ _Chum_ , you’re huge!” Bucky was petting across Tony’s pouch, soothing and soft. Tony was singing softly at the touch, unable to help himself.

“I’m _pregnant_ , you seven-legged lothario!” Tony snapped. This? This was what he got for all his labors? Called fat? _Hmph_.

“Okay, that was rude,” Bucky said, one arm under Tony’s chin, the tip poking at the corner of Tony’s mouth. “We don’t live-birth. I was expecting to see a clutch. Tell me what to do, Tony. I want to be a good mate to you, take care of you.”

“Just hug me,” Tony whimpered, letting Bucky draw him back into a comforting embrace.

Bucky whispered into his hair. “Got eight arms to hold you, baby.”

 

Art from [kjanddean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/pseuds/kjanddean)


	2. Eight Ways to a Sunny Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those people who wanted to see more pregnant Tony and Bucky taking care of his mate... we have octo-mer and mer-seahorse babies!
> 
> Also, some excitement, and Bucky being a good provider and protector
> 
> PS - I AM TAKING SUGGESTIONS FOR merbaby names!

Tony stretched luxuriously. He finally had his mate with him. Their home was as safe and secure as they could make it -- there were advantages to having a mate as strong as Bucky. For an octo-mer, he was deficient, having only seven lower arms, and one upper, but for a seahorse, he was _amazing_.

Bucky could lift incredible loads with his multiple limbs. He could squeeze into tiny gaps --Tony didn’t really like watching that, it was sort of gross, really, but useful -- to get the finest foods. He was fast, so fast. Tony could barely keep track of his unusual mate as Bucky tore around on the ocean floor, gathering materials and collecting food and soft kelps for their bed.

For a creature that was supposed to be solitary, Bucky had mostly adapted to mated life. He was occasionally shy and if he wasn’t thinking about it, he’d shade himself to blend in with the background, giving Tony terrible panic attacks when he would think his mate had left him. And he still hadn't quite adjusted himself to the sheer amount of food a mer-seahorse could eat. Particularly a pregnant one.

“I’m hungry,” Tony mumbled. Not unusual. Tony’s species were grazers, constantly moving (when not pregnant) and eating a bite or two as they went. On a good day, Tony could eat up to forty tiny little meals.

But he was also all entangled with his mate.

When Bucky slept alone, he usually squashed himself into the smallest crevice he could find where he’d fit, and pull a rock in after him. It kept him safe from predators and let him rest. Tony, on the other hand, as a mer-seahorse, slept upright with his tail wrapped firmly around a strand of coral or plankton and tried really hard to look like part of the scenery.

They’d adapted, inside the mate-shelter; Tony slept upright, his tail latched firmly on one of the mate-shelter’s pillars. Bucky slept entangled around Tony, arms wrapped around his mate’s torso and tail, letting him rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. It kept _Tony_ protected and allowed them to be in contact the whole night.

Tony slowly started unlooping Bucky’s arms from around him. Sometimes Bucky would just mutter and curl up against the nearest rock, turning the same brownish shade as the ocean floor. Sometimes he woke up as soon as Tony started shifting.

Tony got himself untangled, patted Bucky’s hair, and let his mate sleep, while Tony went to investigate the idea of breakfast.

Bucky had done something; a human thing, he’d called it. _Weaving_. Sort of the same thing that the herds did, to make their mate-dwelling, piles of stones to protect the young. Bucky had made tiny little dwellings from sea reeds that he used to keep the krills and shrimp and tiny fish that made up Tony’s diet alive, but contained, until Tony was ready to eat. _Baskets_ were what Bucky called these things. Magic, more like. Tony could see how they worked, and once he’d been shown, he could even manage to make a few crude containers. They were nothing compared to what Bucky made, but the idea… the idea could change everything.

Tony lifted the lid and peered into one of the basket, stomach gurgling. The babies were already up, poking and prodding at him. Annoying little things. Tony loved them already, but sand and tides, he’d be glad to be done with this pregnancy. There were a handful of clams in one basket. Tony stuffed two in his mouth, sighing with satisfaction.

One of Bucky’s arms slid around Tony’s waist. Another fastened onto his shoulder, suckers taking little nibbles. “Morning,” Bucky said, curling up sleepily against Tony’s back. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Tony said.

“You’re always hungry,” Bucky said. Another limb slid around Tony’s throat, the tip caressing his jaw. “It astonishes me that you still fit in the shelter.”

Tony slapped at the arm. “Be nice to me. These are _your babies_ that are making me fat and has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m eating.”

“Mmmm, yes, they are,” Bucky said. He rubbed his hand over the swollen roundness of Tony’s pouch. The babies inside kicked at each other again for a few moments, each one trying to reach their parent through the plating of Tony’s pouch. “They certainly feel like it.”

“All over enthusiastic acrobatics,” Tony groused. He picked up the empty basket. “There aren’t any clams left.”

Bucky prodded inside the basket with another limb (sometimes Tony felt like his mate had a hundred arms, he kept _doing_ stuff with them) and sighed. “You could save me one, before you eat us out of bed and basket.”

“I have not eaten the bedding material except once,” Tony protested. That was mostly an accident. He didn’t really like greens, but he’d gotten a bit of a craving and half the plankton was gone before he’d really realized what he was doing.

“Still did it,” Bucky crowed. He swam around in a little loop and ended up sticking to the ceiling, limbs twining around the rocks and holding himself in place. “Can I get a kiss before I go hunting on an _empty stomach_?”

“Not if you’re going to continue mocking me,” Tony complained. That was totally a lie. Bucky’s kisses were incredible and Tony never wanted to go without them.

Bucky stayed upside down, wrapped an extra limb around Tony’s back and pulled him in. He licked along Tony’s top lip before moving in, tasting and exploring the contours of Tony’s mouth. Bucky threaded his hand through Tony’s hair, pulling his head at an angle, taking greater licks at Tony’s teeth and his soft palate, sucking on his tongue, sliding along Tony’s tongue until Tony was dizzy with it and tried to wrap his tail around something to stay upright. Bucky’s arms enclosed him, until they were drifting in the deep ocean currents, swaying and rocking slowly as Bucky kept one limb stuck to the upper rocks, his entire weight and Tony’s combined held by one fragile-seeming arm.

“Right,” Bucky said, breaking off the kiss with a suddenness that made Tony whine in dismay. “The sooner I hunt, the sooner I’ll be back, the sooner we can both have some breakfast.” He kissed Tony again, quick and warm, grabbed two of the baskets. He made to leave, then darted back, tasting Tony’s lip. “This time, for real.”

And he was gone.

The mate-shelter seemed very empty without him.

***  

The water was good. Clear and a little warm. The currents were bringing in warmer water from the south. Bucky looped the baskets over his shoulder and went hunting. Small succulent clams and other bivalves from the ocean’s floor made quick work.

A crab, fat and irritable, made up Bucky’s breakfast. A few whacks with one long arm, smacking the creature upside a rock, and it didn’t care anymore. He put the shell into the other basket; Tony sometimes liked to make beads and there was a good deal of raw material there.

A small colony of seasnails went into the basket as well. Tony ate more than anything his size should possibly want. Bucky smiled, fond. His mate was demanding, but well worth it. And while demanding, Tony was also easily pleased, heavy with the praise, and generally happy with Bucky’s efforts.

A glissade of cooler water moved over Bucky’s skin and he pressed himself close to the rock, shifting colors, wondering what the change meant.

Bucky squinted into the depths, listening with every bit of concentration. The slow, _slush-slush_ of respiration was his first clue. The bigger the creature, the slower it breathed, the slower its heart beat. An immense amount of water was passing over the creature, whatever it was. The push of water as it moved… it was huge. A whale, maybe?

A slithering drag, and then one of the baskets was ripped off Bucky’s arm, the lash of fibers stinging and leaving bruises on his back.

What in th’ depths was it?

When the feeding tentacle came for the second basket, Bucky shucked it quickly. He could always make more baskets!

The feeding tentacle’s club end was almost the size of Bucky’s torso. Just above the club, the creature wore a white and red striped bracelet, a solid mass of substance.

_Ten Rings._

Like the hydra, Ten Rings, the colossal mer-squid was a legend. Bucky had hoped never to see another legend again. Dealing with the hydra, Bucky had escaped the situation short two limbs, and that had put him at a decided disadvantage.

Ten Rings was a ship-killer. Twice the size of a man-going vessel, the huge creature used its enormously strong limbs to pull fishing vessels below the surface. It cracked them like Bucky might smash a crab, eating the men that fell from the wreckage. Ten Rings took his name from the round items it had found aboard the ships, using the pieces of man-tools to adorn its limbs and claim its prizes long after they were nothing more than wreckage on the seafloor.

Bucky crept backward, arms feeling the way. Seeking a crevasse, a narrow gap between the stones. Something. _Anything_.

Ten Rings was slow, comparatively, but a squid didn’t have to swim fast to catch him. Ten Rings was also huge; Bucky could swim as fast as he wanted, but it would do him no good. Those feeding tentacles would slice through the water like whips, wrapping around him without Ten Rings even moving.

Bucky found a medium-sized rock, something about the same size as his head. He wrapped two arms around it, flung it as hard as he could, and then took off, swimming as fast as he could, in the opposite direction. Hopefully Ten Rings would be distracted, chase the rock, and leave Bucky alone.

He had to hurry, had to get away. Tony needed him. The babies needed him. Bucky kept an eye out while he swam and finally spotted a lovely, perfect gap between two large boulders. He could squeeze in there and wait for everything to be over.

Bucky squished to the crack, felt the press of stone against his chest, the roughness on his fingers.

Ten Rings wasn’t distracted long. The huge squid fluttered through the water, an unnatural disaster that happened to have a heartbeat.

Bucky _hated_ predators. He’d lost everything to the hydra; he wasn’t about to let Ten Rings take what he’d rebuilt.

But what could he do? Ten Rings was huge, it would take an army of octo-mers and more to bring Ten Rings down.

Finally, Ten Rings moved on.

Bucky waited longer, until he was sure the squid was long gone, and not just waiting for a careless octo-mer to show himself.

He cursed the loss of the baskets and the snails; Tony would be hungry and Bucky had nothing for him. There was nothing. Ten Rings had come through for food, and there was nothing left. Bucky cursed. He would swim home, check on Tony. Apologize. And hunt later, when Ten Rings had cleared the area. There was no way to tell how far the squid had gone.

On the way back, Bucky talked himself around; he might not have breakfast, but he had outwitted Ten Rings, and that was a feat to be proud.

The water seemed darker, somehow, as Bucky made his way back to the mate-shelter.

He climbed the side of the reef, arms finding holds and pulling himself up.

Bucky’s smugness washed away like shapes in the sand.

The reason Ten Rings had gone away without turning every rock and reef looking for a mere octo-mer was because the beast had gone after a much tastier morsel.

A pregnant mer-seahorse, close to his spawning, was more vulnerable prey. No need to chase him across the ocean floor. Tony… wasn’t going _anywhere_.

***

Tony’s lower back was killing him.

It didn’t seem to matter how much he stretched. He even wrapped his tail low around one of the pillars and reached as high as he could, trying to relieve the pressure on his spine.

Still hurt. Ached, really.

Pulsed. A deep, throbbing sort of pain.

“Oh, scales and shells!” Tony swore. He pressed his hands to the bulge of his pouch. He was going into _labor_.

Alone.

Because, really, that just seemed his luck.

Tony really could have gone for some breakfast before this; the handful of clams barely sated his hunger. He peeked into the two remaining baskets, just in case something had decided to crawl in on its own. Nope.

He thought about going out, seeing if he could flush out a bit of shrimp or something from the nearby kelp beds. Although one might have thought Bucky would already have stripped them before venturing out further into the ocean to hunt.

Couldn’t hurt, though, could it?

It wasn’t that far, even though Tony was pretty slow. He flexed, pushing himself toward the door. The sway and stretch of his pouch almost dissuaded him from the attempt, but then his stomach growled again. He could do this. After all, he’d built almost half a mate-shelter by himself before Bucky showed up. What was a little swim, just over to the kelps?

He grabbed the basket.

Delicately, Tony swam -- well, floundered, really, but since no one was looking, it didn’t count -- over to the kelp beds.

 _Oh, krill!_ The tiny creatures were tasty, even if they were tiny. A handful would barely slake Tony’s hunger, but there were millions of them in a swarm, and they were swarming today. Tony was on his sixth or seventh (or ninth, or tenth, it didn’t count, Bucky wasn’t there to mock him) handful when it suddenly occurred to him to wonder why the krill were swarming south to north. It wasn’t time for them to return to cooler waters.

Only the mouthful that Tony had prevented him from shrieking out a distress cry when the shadow passed over him.

Too bulbous and graceless to be a whale.

Tony lashed his tail around a piece of help and tucked himself inside the greenery, pulling it around him. He pushed his face against it, then peeked around the corner. It wasn’t until the mantle passed directly in front of him that Tony knew what he was looking at.

A squid.

And not just any squid, but a massive creature. Nearly the size of two human fishing trawlers placed end to end, with feeding tentacles that stretched another two times as long. Ideal for plumbing the depths and snaring enough food to keep something that large functional. The tentacles trailed along behind it as the squid explored.

The ocean was often a deep and silent place, but now _nothing_ moved.

Except the babies in Tony’s pouch that didn’t know enough to keep still.

That had no idea what was outside that safe and warm place for them.

Tony pressed his hand against the opening to his pouch.

He spared a moment’s thought for his mate, that Bucky would come and find him. But what in the depths was Bucky supposed to do against a creature this size? There was nothing that could be done except hope that the squid passed him by. That it was sated and lazy and returning home, rather than hunting.

Tony closed his eyes, curling into the plankton reed. A soft touch against his belly forced his eyes open again in shock. A pair of reddish, tentacled arms waved at him from the slit in his pouch.

“Oh, oh, no, baby, no,” Tony said, soft as he could, prodding the arms back into his pouch. Like playing with an eel inside the coral, every time Tony got one questing arm pushed back into place, another two or three would come out. His body was ridding itself of these babies, whether he wished to or not.

“Chum, chum, chum,” Tony swore. What was he supposed to do now? The babies infantile flailing would attract attention. His only hope was to finish his labors and then swim away, drawing the beast’s gaze, get them away from his babies. He couldn’t move very fast; could he possibly lure it far enough away?

And what would happen to his children? Would Bucky think to look for them, or would he be too distraught at the loss of his mate to search?

Tony bit his lip.

One of the babies made its way out, and once it broke free of his pouch, there was no going back. A little girl, her arms clinging around Tony’s wrist like a wiggly little bracelet. She had hair as red as her arms and eyes of grey.

Tony stared down at his daughter. She gnawed at his finger in frustration. Hungry and not even knowing what food was yet. Tony should have been prepared for her.

His gaze dropped to the basket. Of course, Bucky would find the basket, he would know his own craftsmanship.

There were krill in the basket. Tony pressed one into his daughter’s hands and tucked her into the basket. She attacked the little creature, shoving sustenance in her mouth with both hands and an arm while she was at it. Greedy little thing. Tony couldn’t quite help cooing over her. She was adorable.

“Ow!” Tony bit down on his hand, trying to stifle the pained moans as his pouch opened again. He reached, barely caught the spawn trying to escape and swim away, chasing the krills that still lingered in the undersea forest.

Tony blinked. Another girl, but this one had a mer-seahorse tail, with black, curly hair that stuck straight up from her head. She twisted her tail around Tony’s fingers and he absently gave her a few krills, watching her eat, messy and graceless. He’d taken in already fertilized eggs, Bucky’s former mate’s eggs that Bucky had given his seed to. How were any of them anything but octo-mers? Could Bucky have failed to inseminate all the eggs before giving them to Tony to tend?

He pulled the baby closer, holding her against his chest. “All right, little one. Into the basket. Stay with your sister.”

The next two came out together, as alike as two pearls in an oyster. Thick, dark hair, greenish arms, twin octo-mer boys. Tony didn’t have time to cuddle them; the squid was turning around. He pushed them both into the basket. Was that all? Four was a respectable spawning.

Nope. Tony winced, arching his back, trying not to scream.

A fifth baby clawed his way out; this one with reddish arms and a scowl to match his father’s. Tony kissed the baby and placed it in the basket. “Almost done, almost done, everything is --”

Everything was not fine.

Giant. Eyeball.

The size of _Tony’s freaking body_.

The feeding tentacle was weaving through the kelp forest.

Tony swam. Straight up. As far from the basket as he could get. As fast as he could go.

It wasn’t going to be fast enough.

***

Bucky hefted one of the cornerstones from the mate-shelter and dropped it on the trailing end of Ten Ring’s feeding tentacle. He smashed the club end onto the ocean floor, pinning the tentacle down.

Ten Rings let out a bellow, vibrating through the water and sending what small fish still remained in the area scattering in a panic.

“Come on, ugly, this way,” Bucky yelled, waving his arms enticingly and trying hard to look utterly delicious.

As soon as Ten Rings turned, Bucky was gone. Scrambling madly across the ocean floor, throwing up as much dirt and rock as he could manage. Making his path easy to follow.

He slid, throwing a cloud of dirt up, then darted to one side.

Just in time. Ten Rings blasted water from its mantle, slamming in front of Bucky before he could think. He grabbed hold of Ten Ring’s skin with his suckered grips, scuttling over the creature and kept on going, forcing Ten Rings into a tight maneuver. Squids were fast; utilizing the same water-siphoning technique that Bucky’s people were famous for. But in tight quarters, Ten Rings was at the disadvantage, unable to change direction nearly as easily.

Bucky skimmed over Ten Rings’ arms, squeezing himself through loops as they attempted to close over him. One sucker bit down on his shoulder, the sharp dentata tearing at his skin. Crimson blood stained the water. Bucky scurried down to the ocean floor, blending and settling into stillness, letting Ten Rings lash at the water, trying to stir him up.

When Ten Rings was looking right at him, Bucky let himself be seen. He shifted, going from I’m-an-inedible-rock to tasty-octopus. Ten Rings’ eye widened then narrowed dangerously. Bucky fled. He squirted a huge cloud of ink, but it hardly deterred the larger predator. Tentacles slashed through the cloud, seeking him out.

Bucky slammed into a boulder, blended to match it, and then scurried around behind it. He let go, the instant the feeding tentacle grabbed it, let Ten Rings draw it back to its beak. Fled further, waving his arms.

Ten Rings flung the rock; its aim was nearly as good as Bucky’s. Bucky slithered to one side and the boulder came down almost where he’d been. Bucky eyed the reef behind him; the drop off there wasn’t as deep as some places, but the bottom was fathoms down. “Come on, come on,” Bucky urged Ten Rings.

As the colossal squid streaked at him, Bucky blended into the boulder again. Ten Rings smashed into the rock, its great mantle pushing and pummeling. Even through the rock, Bucky groaned in pain. The impact was bruising. Not just for Bucky; dark ichor flooded the water as the boulder’s edges ripped at Ten Rings’s supple flesh.

Bucky squeezed as the tentacles wrapped around the rock, sliding between the tentacle and the ring around it from which Ten Rings took its name. With a quick tug, Bucky yanked the ring free.

Now he’d done it!

Ten Rings roared again, infuriated. Those rings were its legacy, its pride. Symbols of its triumph.

Bucky fled again, settling into a depression in the sand, covering the ring with his body, then blended. _Just a bit of sea floor here, no need to look any further._

Slithered an arm out and grabbed a twist of seagrasses. It wasn’t going to be his best braiding job ever; he couldn’t even see what he was doing, but he had seven arms, and he could braid quick. Another twist of grass. Kept an eye on Ten Rings, who was scrambling through the boulders and rocks, trying to shake him loose.

He looped the crude rope over the ring, bound it. Skimmed across the ocean floor to another boulder. An outcropping on that one suited his needs. Bucky put his shoulder to the stone and shoved it across the ocean floor toward the reef’s drop-off.

“Faster,” he urged himself. “You can do this.”

Got the stone over to the edge. Tied the ring to the stone.

“Hey, ugly!”

Ten Rings cavitated a bit as it turned. Good. The more disoriented the beast already was, the better.

It saw its ring. Flexed its arms and sent itself into a spin, driving toward him, full speed.

Bucky went over the side. A moment later, Ten Rings slammed into the boulder, arms and tentacles scrambling for its ring. The stone shuttled forward in the dirt, pushed by the force of Ten Rings’ impact.

Bucky watched in satisfaction as the boulder went over the side and into the depths, Ten Rings clinging to it, trying in vain to rip the ring free.

***

Tony wasn’t ashamed to admit there was a very large part of him that wanted to just lay down on the ocean floor and wait for death. His mate was gone. Their mate-shelter was destroyed. He had six babies (six? That was at least two more than most spawnings, and was a ridiculous number of babies to look after) in a basket strapped to his chest.

He was tired.

He was _still hungry_.

He was terrified.

The squid had chased after Bucky, but Tony wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t come back. After all, something that big had to eat an awful lot.

But Tony did have _six babies_.

And he owed it to his mate, and to them, to try.

The basket kept his babies contained, and that was good. It also wasn’t too much different from being pregnant. He was still ungainly and middle-heavy and awkward, but at least he was mostly used to it.

Just get to Rhodey, he thought. Once he was there, some sort of plan… some…

Tony tucked his face against the basket, trying not to wail his grief and anguish.

A shifting in the sands was all the warning Tony had before great arms reached for him.

“Hey gorgeous.”

_Bucky._

Yep. That was it. Tony was dead. He clutched one hand over his heart, staggered backward. If the basket hadn’t been hooked over his shoulders, he might have dropped it.

“Woah, woah.” Bucky’s arms went ‘round his waist, behind his neck, under his hips, keeping him upright. “I got you. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got… all of you. Wow.” One arm opened the top of the basket and Bucky drew out one of their children.

The mer-seahorse filly was awkward, bumbling from side to side as she scooted toward her parent, arms stretched out.

“Well, I’ll be hooked,” Bucky said. “Look at her, baby.”

Tony couldn’t help a smile at that. “We did make some very pretty babies.”

“Come on, we need to get to shelter before Ten Rings comes after us again,” Bucky said. Tony shuddered delicately. So, the giant squid had a name? Ug. Somehow that was even worse. Bad enough to be eaten by a predator, but it was worse to devour something that could _think…_ and knowing that it could.

Tony patted Bucky, as if reassuring himself that Bucky was all right. Which he was, give or take a new battlescar or two. “Where are we going?”

“My friend, Steve. His cave is this way; he’ll let us impose for a while,” Bucky said.

An altogether agreeable plan; unlike Rhodey’s mate, Pepper, Steve wouldn’t be overly territorial. Mer-crustaceans were more sociable than their crusty exterior might have indicated. Not to mention, Steve had powerful arms and a hide of solid armor. They’d be in less danger, with such a protector.

Bucky gave his daughter a quick nuzzle and put her back in the basket. “Here, let me carry them, you’ve been doing it long enough.”

“I hate to agree with you, but yes,” Tony said.  “And you have more arms to carry with anyway. Which will come in handy, as you’ll need six of them, looking after our brood.”

“Six for them, one for you, which still leaves me one to wave for Steve when we need help.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now with amazing art from kjanddean!!


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